AI and robotic-controlled establishments already exist in big cities and at places like the airport.
If you’ve never seen them, how they work is that you go up to a kiosk (in case my uncle is reading this, a kiosk is a tiny little machine that has an information screen. Sort of like them new fangled jukeboxes you hate so much because “people shouldn’t have all these choices!”) you browse the menu, you make your selection, you put your card in (if you only have cash you get deported to France) and then you wait for the sole employee to emerge from the back and hand you your order after successfully avoiding any human contact for as long as possible.
For places like the airport, I’ll admit: I don’t hate it. When you’re at the airport you are the worst version of yourself and that goes for both sides of the service counter. But we have to think of the broader implications here. “What, Corey? Like the fact that corporations value profit over people and that everything will soon be automated and because politicians refuse to have a conversation about universal basic income we will all be screwed?”
Well yes, but I’m not qualified to talk about all that. What I’m worried about is the extinction of the good ole Meat and 3, and the charming (if not often insane) characters that make them worthwhile even if they sometimes use instant potatoes.
I’m sorry to any Yankees but from here on out I will be writing with the assumption that the reader knows what a Meat and 3 is. If you do not, please go look it up real quick as I am only allowed so many words and may need half of them just to describe the various versions of beehive hair-dos one may encounter at said restaurant.
The beehive hair-do or the bouffant is actually a symptom of the reason the good ole Meat and 3 means so much to me: It is a place stuck in time. I know the negative implications that “being old fashioned” can have when writing about the South, but again, I’m short on words so let’s just agree that a lot of it sucked and we need be better about fixing its repercussions. That said, taking your time and smiling at your neighbor were never my region’s sins, and that’s the past you’re warped back to when you sit down over a hot plate of chicken and dumplings and a cold glass of tea so sweet it’ll locate your next tooth fillin’ on the first swallow.
The air in the Meat and 3 is filled with the aroma of two types of grease: the kind that’s currently frying your chicken, and the kind that has become one with the overalls of all the old men sitting down with their morning coffee talking about the junk car they are trying to get to run right. Truth told, they don’t care if they ever do; they just want a reason to watch the Braves from the garage. If they ever did fix it, they’d just have to break something else anyhow.
On Saturdays in the fall, the place will be a sea of the local high schools’ team colors, and the result of last night’s football game will decide the atmosphere felt within. The owner of the restaurant will either be bragging to the local sheriff about how well his grandson ran the ball in their triumphant victory, or trying to persuade him to bring the sorry head coach up on bribery charges in the event of a loss. The biscuits will not be affected either way.
The children will run wild under the tables, but it doesn’t matter much because everyone they bump into will either be their legitimate aunt, uncle, cousin or someone who holds that title as an honor. Or, it may be that one guy. We definitely keep our kids away from that one guy. You know that guy. For some of you, it very well may be your mayor. That’s not the case where I’m from. Our only concern with the mayor is if he actually does anything. But that’s another story. One I will probably need to write at the Meat and 3 so I can keep my ears open for gossip.
For anyone born after the turn of the century, what I’m describing here is a place with character. You’ve likely never been to one, and for that I’m truly sorry. Places now are hell bent on either being “hip” or completely soulless. Some places you go eat at are indistinguishable from hospitals, and that includes the food. In a world where we require everything to happen in such a hurry, everything gets thrown together so ticky tacky and paint by numbers that if I get turned around, I don’t even know where I am anymore. It all looks the same. If my phone wasn’t charged, I’d have to actually pay attention to what the sun was doing to figure out where I parked.
That’s now. And next comes the robots. And while that’s all very convenient and appealing to the godforsaken shareholders, a robot won’t say sorry if it spills your coffee, and a robot ain’t gonna remember your granny and tell you stories about her you didn’t know.
Credit: Handout
Credit: Handout
Corey Ryan Forrester is a comedian from Chickamauga. He is the co-author of “The Liberal Redneck Manifesto: Draggin’ Dixie Outta the Dark” and “Round Here and Over Yonder: A Front Porch Travel Guide by Two Progressive Hillbillies (Yes, That’s a Thing.),” and a co-host of the podcasts “wellRED” and “Puttin’ On Airs.” Forrester will be performing at the Punchline Comedy Club in Atlanta at 7:30 p.m. March 20.
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